Two of my friends have written that their mothers fell in the past week - one in assisted living and one in an independent apartment in a continuing care community. Both were in their nineties and alone in their "homes". Their injuries were serious and resulted in hospital admissions. The future is unclear for these dignified women who are strong in spirit. Their falls possibly could have been avoided had there been a caregiver no more than a step or two away. It is highly unlikely that my friends could have found that "close contact" care or that their mothers would have accepted it.
This brings to mind a frequent caregiver calculation - how much of an elder's safety to sacrifice for the sake of their privacy. This question often arises in the context of personal care in bedrooms and bathrooms. These are refuge spaces, where people expect quiet and solitude. They can also be obstacle courses where sharp counter edges, uneven floor coverings, and hard materials are ready to inflict cuts, bruises, and fractures. Company is not welcome in these private spaces. A caregiver's attempted invasion, in the name of safety, generates the fiercest objection and endangers a fragile relationship.
Many times I wait outside the closed door, holding my breath, to allow the privacy that is so important to self esteem. I endure one tense moment after another, knowing that a slip and fall beyond my reach could start a trail marked by hospital care, long rehab, and diminished physical ability. I struggle with "what is enough help and what is too much intrusion".
